And They Lived
by WhatsABriard
Summary: Post-Telemovie. Presenting Dr and Mrs Lucien Blake. Months - years, really - of restraint turned to ash. Lucien x Jean, dash of Matthew/Alice in Ch2.
1. Chapter 1

So they danced.

"Shall we, my darling?"

Jean stepped forward into Lucien's embrace, gloriously unfettered. It was no longer deemed inappropriate that she should hold him - touch him - want him. They were married now, before their friends (well, most of their friends. Jean wouldn't think of the parishioners she considered friends who snubbed her invitation and took excommunication to its most literal meaning. And she wouldn't dwell on her broken boy, Jack, whose anger prevented him from experiencing so much good in his life) and she was free.

Bound to Lucien forever but finally free to love him without reservation or judgement.

It was still early yet when Jean found him in conversation with Matthew, Danny and Charlie, a still-full whiskey in his hand.

"Lucien, the taxi will be here early in the morning." She pressed her palm to the middle of his back and took the drink from his hand, startling the others when she sipped at it herself. She'd developed a taste for it over the years - she'd developed a taste for quite a few things in his influence.

"Yes, Lucien. You wouldn't want to miss _the taxi_." Matthew spoke pointedly, Danny chuffed into his sleeve and Charlie, bless him, reddened along his collar.

"We've an early flight." Jean chided without heat, linking her arm with Lucien's, not giving in to the threatening blush.

"I'm sure." Matthew coughed into his fist and turned to inspect the ceiling.

"Alright, you lot." She said, pointing at them with her glass. "Off with you."

With wide grins they nodded, shook Lucien's hand and kissed her cheek. She watched them walk away with an indulgent smile - three gently recalcitrant sons. Her grin shifted to interest as Matthew veered off in Alice's direction but then Lucien was tugging her hand and she lost sight of the couple.

It took far longer than either had anticipated to make it up to their room. So many well-wishers and cheek-kisses. Lucien was sure he would have a permanent handprint on his back from all the well-meaning slaps and his fingers ached from the multitude of handshakes. He was a lucky man, he'd heard so many times. "I know," he'd responded, watching his wife graciously accept the attention and deftly move them back towards the staircase. _His wife_. The word bubbled in his chest like good champagne and he wanted nothing more than to drown in it.

To drown in her.

They made their way to their room with a nervous energy, quiet tension building as they crossed hallways to the suite prepared for them. It had been a hushed conversation that led them to choose to spend their wedding night at the club. With everything that had happened in previous weeks the studio - their bedroom, she corrected herself - wasn't quite finished. They also had to be up early to take a taxi to Melbourne for a flight. They didn't want to wake the house before sun-up. Matthew had offered to stay away that night, a discussion that had three sets of cheeks flaming and speaking in general, clinical terms. In the end they decided the most logical choice was to stay at the club, and none of them had mentioned it again.

By the time they reached the suite they were fairly trembling in anticipation. Lucien swung open the door and held it for his wife...his _wife_. She breezed past him, her fingers brushing his chest playfully. The room was simple and plain, meant to house members too drunk to make it home, not to serve as a honeymoon suite. However the soft glow of candle and firelight softened the harsher edges and Cec had filled every available surface with Jean's centerpieces. Lucien knew he would forever connect the heady scent of roses with the happiest day of his life.

Together they stopped in the middle of the room. Lucien stood behind her, close but not touching, breathing into her hair. She resisted the urge to slump into his arms and let him carry her to the bed. She had a certain nightgown that she'd been saving for just this very night and she wasn't going to miss the opportunity, not again. She'd waited such a long time. She turned abruptly and placed a kiss on the corner of Lucien's mouth before disappearing into the adjoining bathroom.

With a shuddering sigh, Lucien removed his coat, setting the rose from his lapel on the bedside table. He undressed and folded his clothes carefully, mindful of his wife's...his _wife's_...inherent neatness. He took his time, relishing in the warmth of the room, looking over the turned down bed with longing. He was just about to divest himself of his pants when the door opened and Jean emerged from the bathroom with a wad of filmy fabric in her arms. Her expression was one of frustration and she looked at Lucien as she usually did when she found he'd taken to smashing the glassware. She stood before him sans hat and gloves, but still fully dressed. After several minutes of struggle in the bathroom she came to the belated realization that she couldn't get the dress off without him.

The furrows between her brows melted at the sight of her husband...her _husband_... bare-chested and barefoot in only his slacks. For reasons she couldn't quite describe she stared at his bare toes, suddenly swamped with the intimacy of it. Her vision swam with a burst of emotion but she swallowed it back and met Lucien's gaze.

They watched each other warily - she still fully dressed and he well on his way to not. Firelight shifted the shadows and the red-gold glow made Lucien appear burnished. Bronzed. Something to be worshipped.

Over the years she had seen him in various stages of undress but he was usually injured in some way and she kept her head by focusing on his care. She was, at heart, a nurturer although the rush of desire swept aside her need to care for him, pushing simple affection far out to sea. Need, hot and fast, hung between them and she followed the line of his shoulders, visually marking all of the places she would physically mark in the very near future. She swallowed drily, wishing for the drink she'd left behind downstairs, and brought herself back to the moment. She had no desire to be inebriated for what was happening between them - his very presence was intoxicating enough.

"I need your help". She turned, shrugging her shoulders to indicate the line of delicate buttons in the lace. It had been an indulgence to choose such a dress for her wedding, but a stubborn streak had her absolutely determined to make this wedding more than a simple legalization process. She was marrying Lucien - a man she loved - and it would not be reduced to a mere business transaction.

"Of course, my darling." He gestured her closer and nudged her shoulder to face away from him. Jean caught their reflection in the bathroom mirror. His expression was reverent - captivated. Overwhelmed, she dropped her chin to her chest and clutched the peignoir. Lucien followed the line of buttons with his fingertips, inordinately pleased he would be the one to open them so tantalizingly slowly. He'd been fixated on them all evening, the press of them into his palm as they danced. So lovely, so delicate. Briefly he imagined biting them off, giving in to a base urge to remove the garment as quickly as he could manage. But she had been so impossibly lovely in it, it would have broken his heart to destroy it.

Instead he unlooped them slowly and carefully. He was unwrapping a gift he had no intention of returning. He parted each one with a kiss, following the gentle undulations of her spine to the top of the zipper. Ever so carefully he slid the zip down to her lower back. Jean's breath cascaded past her lips. She hadn't realized she'd been holding it until she began to feel light-headed.

Once more she glanced at their doppelgangers in the glass and Lucien stared back at her, his hooded eyes lazy and dark. He kissed her neck, suckling and nibbling gently, pushing the dress aside to reveal more skin. Her bones dissolved in the heat of his gaze and she dropped the nightie, forgotten at her feet. Lucien's fingertips brushed the dress from her shoulders and it dropped noiselessly to the floor..

"So beautiful," He whispered into her hair and she shuddered. She felt exposed, standing in only her underthings, but cherished. He touched her gently, the pads of her fingers whorling deliciously. She watched their reflection as Lucien dipped his head to her throat, swirling his tongue over the pearls. She was so chaste, all in white, and yet...she stood in only her stockings and underthings and was far more dangerous than he'd realized.

His fingers tensed and released at her hips, holding her gently and allowing her a few moments to settle her skittering heart. Another shiver and gooseflesh rose across her arms.

"Are you cold?" Lucien's concern was touching. Not trusting her voice she shook her head still holding his gaze in the mirror. It was easier, less intense - somewhat removed, to look at him indirectly. Once they locked eyes for real, she was sure she would incinerate from the intensity.

He was breathing in short bursts, nearly panting, his knuckles white from the exertion of not touching her.

Wobbly with anticipation and desire, she leaned over to remove her shoes.

"Don't." He spoke so low it was more of a rumble against her skin than a sound.

"Lucien-"

"Leave them on." He dropped his forehead to her neck, his hot breath spilling over her skin. She was everything - a vision - and his need for her pressed hot against her spine. "Please."

She only nodded and he reached around her to palm her stomach, skimming over the delicate skin of her navel. She was transfixed by the delicate brush of his hand across her abdomen and her fingers clutched at the material of his slacks. His pinkie slid beneath the waistband of her knickers, the barest of touch, and her knees buckled. She clutched the arm holding her against him before spinning and crashing their mouths together. Need, once slip free of its bonds, consumed her and raged quickly out of control.

Lucien has suspected - hoped - that Jean's prim exterior was a glamour meant to protect the soft, passionate, vibrant woman beneath and he was delighted - as she nibbled wantonly on his earlobe and slid her palm across the planes of his rear - that he had been correct.

Months - years, really - of restraint turned to ash and they fumbled towards the bed, an inelegant tangle of limbs and need.

He had intended to go slow - to worship her and savor the freedom to look and to hold. However the writhing heat of her in his arms would test the restraint of even the strongest man and where Jean Blake… _Jean Blake_...was concerned, he was deeply, unreservedly, unashamedly weak.

They touched and tasted, swallowing groans and pleas, gripping one another until everything else - long months of agony, scandal and rumor, loss and betrayal - were distant memories.

All that remained was the two of them, and the singular pleasure Lucien took discovering the last remaining hidden frontiers of Jean Blake, his wife.

His _wife_.

-(fin)-

A/N.- This was actually part of a longer piece that I decided needed to be broken apart because the tone didn't match between the first and second half. I haven't decided if the other half will be chapter 2 of this piece or will stand alone. *shrug*

Anyway. THOSE BUTTONS.


	2. Malice: A forethought

It was torture to wake the next morning, loose and warm beneath the light quilt. The fire had burned down low and there was a sharp chill in the air. The sun had not yet risen when Jean kissed Lucien awake, prodding gently at his shoulder and whispering that they had to be ready in less than an hour. His response was to curl around her and bite sharply into the tendon of her neck.

"London can wait." He grumbled and, for a moment, she was tempted to agree with him. The silken heat of him prodded at her belly and she thought it wouldn't be the end of the world if they missed their flight.

But there was time - so much time - the future rolling out in front of them, wide and open. Tempting as though it may be to become lost in the pleasures of the bedroom, there was so much more she intended to share with her husband. He was also her dearest, most treasured friend and she would enjoy experiencing new vistas with him by her side.

It was the fluttering in her stomach at the prospect of adventure, the realization that she would leave this place for the first time and he would give her the world, that had her rolling resolutely out of his embrace.

"Looooove," Lucien whined, flopping onto his back and staring at the ceiling with bleary eyes. Jean wrapped a robe around her and brushed her tousled curls out of her face.

"Get up, Lucien."

He shifted his eyes, a sly smile on his lips. With a flick of his wrist he tossed back the covers.

"You'll notice, I'm already up."

"Then I suspect you'll need the bathroom first." She said primly, removing her travelling suit from the garment bag hung on the back of the door. She turned just in time to see him loom out of the bed in her direction, and the squeal of laughter was cut short as he tugged her into the bathroom with him.

* * *

They were, of course, running late. It was a mad dash to gather their carry-on luggage and they spilled onto the hallway with high color and rapid breathing. And they still needed to arrange for a cab. Jean had almost her entire head in her purse, searching for the room key to leave with Cec on their way out. She managed to misplace it in the hubbub - and activity - of the morning.

"Perfectly good silk stockings." She grumbled good-naturedly, giving Lucien a side-eye. It was a continuation of their earlier conversation, as she had gathered her discarded underthings from the night before.

"Jean," Lucien chuckled, not the least bit abashed. "I'll buy you a new pair of stockings. I'll buy you ten pairs."

"That's not the point," She huffed, frustrated. "They can be mended. But your teeth, Lucien? Did you need to use your teeth?"

He longed to touch her but his hands were full so he settled on leaned over her shoulder, pressing his cheek to hers. She sighed with relief when her fingers closed around the key.

"Don't tell me you didn't enjoy it," He nudged her ear with his nose, tongue darting out. He knew for a fact she had enjoyed it, as he'll cherish the memory of her breathy cries as he knelt before her on the cold bathroom tile.

" _That_ is most certainly not the point." She reddened and jabbed him with her elbow.

He opened his mouth to argue, to tell her it was exactly the point. That everything in their lives was replaceable except the heat they could manage between them. Making love to his wife...his _wife_... it was the only point worth making. He was about to tell her so when a door opened behind them. In unison they turned to see Alice stepping from a room.

"Alice!" Jean's hand immediately brushed at her hair, briefly concerned that they've been caught out. It will take a while for the guilt to leave her, to realize they are allowed to stand this close, her neck still damp from Lucien's ministrations. "I didn't know you were staying the night as well."

If Alice was surprised to see them, she hid it very well. She held her shoes and purse, her coat tossed over her arm. She was only barely rumpled and looked awfully chipper for someone nursing a hangover. She wore her dress from the wedding still, meaning the decision to stay was one of convenience and not forethought. She was just about to speak when the door swung open behind her. Matthew fairly tumbled out, catching himself with his cane when he nearly barreled into Alice, surprised to find her still in the doorway. And possibly even more surprised to find Lucien and Jean staring at him with matching bemused expressions.

"Your hat." He said lamely, holding it out to her. He was in his slacks and singlet and he was scarlet from his toes to the tips of his hair.

"Thank you, Matthew." Alice took the hat but appeared mostly non-plussed. She stood, back straight, and glanced between the other three people in the hall. If she noticed the awkwardness, she didn't let on.

It was Jean who broke the stalemate.

"Lucien," She addressed her husband, who appeared on the verge of saying something completely inappropriate. Her elbow jabbed at him again and Lucien's attention finally shifted from Matthew to her. "See to our luggage and the taxi? Alice, can I interest you in a cuppa?"

Alice nodded once and followed Jean down the hall and Lucien grinned even harder at his old friend.

"Matthew Lawson, you old dog."

"Shut up, Blake"

* * *

Jean showed amazing self-restraint and waited until they have fixed their tea to their liking before she leaned forward with wide eyes. "How on earth…?"

Alice shrugged. "I'm not sure, exactly. We went out for some air. We sat on the terrace and talked. He's a very amusing man. At some point - I kissed him."

Jean's eyebrows disappeared into her hairline.

"After that it gets all very blurry. He's very good at it, you know. Matthew." Alice sipped at her tea, lost in thought for a few long moments. "Not that I've a lot of experience but it was quite pleasurable."

Jean simply blinked at her. "And will you...see each other again?"

"I'm sure we will. We work together." Had she not been familiar with Alice, Jean might have thought the neat prevarication was a ploy to shift the conversation. But Alice was not particularly adept at playing coy - she was perhaps the most literal person Jean had ever met.

"What I mean is-"

"I know what you mean." Alice's voice was sharp and for the first time, Jean noticed the hint of worry in her face. It was a reminder that, like them all, Alice carried her own wounds, invisible though they might have been. "I don't know if he would even want to. See me again. In that way."

Jean considered, before pressing her fingers to Alice's, a friendly, gentle squeeze. "I think he will. I think you should."

Alice settled into a small smile. "That's not very Catholic of you, Jean."

Jean paled a bit and busied herself with drinking her tea, the topic a still-healing wound that would ache from time to time. "I'm afraid I'm not a very good Catholic anymore."

Alice, unaware of Jean's obvious discomfort, continued on. "Speaking of...what of your night, Mrs Blake?"

Jean placed the cup in the saucer, twisting the handle back and forth, making a gentle clinking noise. Memories of the night rose with the color in her cheeks and she couldn't lie. It felt so very good to have a woman to confide in, something she had been missing.

"Very satisfying." She bit her lip and heat flared in her cheeks. "Very."

"Well done, Lucien!" Alice clapped her hands and the women shared a conspiratorial grin.

Cec approached the table, bending slightly in apology for interrupting.

"Mrs. Blake, your taxi is here."

"Oh!" Jean looked around and found Matthew and Lucien leaning against the bar, apparently deep in conversation. She could guess at the topic with the way Lucien's devilish little smile seemed to push Matthew deeper into himself. She stood and kissed Alice's cheek.

"Let me know how it goes." She whispered to Alice and they clasped hands before Jean made her way to the gentlemen. One look at Jean's arched brow had Lucien straightening and attempting to swallow back his grin.

"I'll go see to the luggage." He retreated hastily, saving one last look back at Matthew, who was almost green with discomfort.

"You're disappointed in me," Matthew was gruff. She was a very good woman who was far better than Lucien deserved. He had always been just a little bit in love with her, and the thought of disappointing her was a special kind of torment for him.

"You all must think me an awful prude." She scowled, wondering if it hadn't occurred to any of them that her disagreements with her church ran deeper than just her nuptials. It was a reality she would wrestle with for some time to come; that the faith she had come to rely on should denounce men and women with good hearts, would withhold from them God's love and forgiveness...she'd heard of a crisis of faith. She never expected to experience one. "Whatever my convictions or decisions, Matthew, I'm not likely to impose them on anyone else. I hoped you would know that by now."

Matthew grimaced and looked down at his hands, chastened.

"I know it."

"Besides, as far as the Church is concerned I'm basically a fallen woman. I'll leave judgement to God - I find I haven't the stomach for it."

Matthew still avoided her gaze, finding deep interest in the lines on the backs of his hands.

"She's a good woman - Alice."

"Better than I deserve," He agreed and looked over Jean's shoulder to the woman in question, who sat reading the morning paper.

"No," Jean stepped into his line of sight, forcing him to make eye contact. "You're one of the best men I know. She's lucky to have you."

Matthew cleared his throat, inexplicably touched by her blessing.

"Where is he taking you?" He said when he could finally form words.

"London to start. After that, he won't say."

"He wants to show you the world."

"Yes, he does." She stepped closer to Matthew and curled her hand around his neck, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. She hoped, even as she departed on her own whirlwind adventure, that Matthew would allow Alice to draw him from his melancholy. She wished them the best of luck in her mind before heading out to where Lucien waited in the cab.

"Everything alright?"

Jean nodded and threw herself into his arms, burying her nose against his tie, breathing in the heady scent of him. He made smoothing passes over her back and when she pulled back, her eyes sparkled with the possibilities that lie before them.

* * *

Matthew approached Alice at her table, ducking his head bashfully.

"Alice-Dr Harvey -Alice." She glanced up at him, her eyes startlingly clear. She had looked at him - at all of him - and had not been repulsed or afraid. Now, in the cold light of very early morning he saw that she was as nervous as he was, her fingers trembling just so against the handle of her cup. He trusted her and knowing even the bare hint of her past, was humbled by the immense trust she placed in him. "What do you say to dinner tonight? Out at a restaurant and all."

"A date?" She asked, a little breathless.

"You could call it that." Matthew cleared his throat and looked around the room - anything to avoid looking at her.

She stood, carefully folding the newspaper she'd been pretending to read before leaning forward to grip his elbow. She squeezed gently until he brought his eyes to meet hers. He was startled to find her leaning in, pressing her lips softly against his mouth.

"I'd say it's the least you could do. Seven o'clock?"

"Yes. Yes. Seven. Is good."

And then they lived.

(fin)

A/N - This second part didn't exactly match the tone of the first, but the arc was always meant to go together so I decided to keep it at as one story. I wrote this in my head while I drove 300 miles on Sunday after watching the ep. A couple days to fine tune and... here we go. Title is a nod to "and they lived happily ever after" because the happy part is a given, if they allow themselves the living part. Peace out, friends.


End file.
